Canopic
by Stockholm Syndicate
Summary: It was all he could do to escape a fate worse than death. And he hadn't been cruel, he'd taken care, he'd done his duty. So why do his choices seem to follow him, haunt him? Is it possible for a demon to haunt another?
1. Introduction

**It was all he could do to escape a fate worse than death. And he hadn't been cruel, he'd taken care, he'd done his duty. So why do his choices seem to follow him, haunt him? Is it possible for a demon to haunt another?**

**A/N ;; Oh hi, I know this little bit is very vague and odd and weird. . There is a point. This is the introduction. All will be explained in due time, I promise you that. I disclaim this.**

Quiet. Quiet.

It was so quiet.

Disturbingly so.

Nimble fingers. One more twist and he was done.

There, there, there!

The ashes spilt forth, fine as silt. Sandalwood and blood.

They were fathered in one hand. Bare. No glove. The jar placed in the center of the circle. The star. All so ceremonious. There were footsteps. Coming closer. The moment coming closer. Freedom. Freedom coming closer. Just a few more steps. A turn of the knob.

"Sebastian?"

A grin. The Cheshire cat. Then all was black.


	2. One soul

**I disclaim what I do not own. Which would be Kuroshitsuji. Yeah. **

He hadn't changed much. Jet black hair, cut back. Eyes that seemed to draw out and identify every fear you stowed away. Pristine white gloves. Freshly pressed black jacket. His image had become somewhat repetitive; mundane in his own mind. But to those around him, he represented a kind of that they could never dare to aspire to. But aside from providing entertainment whilst performing various, typically uninteresting tasks, he was nothing more than what he stated himself to be; one hell of a butler. To only one was he exotic, something untouchable, forbidden, of some dark value that drew out the carnal beast that lay dormant within even the purest of humans. He was sin itself, in its purest form, cloaked in a human guise. But one would never guess such a beast lived beneath such sweet skin.

But there was one, still technically alive - though not in the traditional sense - that knew otherwise, that saw beneath the second skin, between the bars that caged the beast. But he wasn't here to attest to such witness, nor would he be returning. No now. Never now.

**Berlin 1925**

**Michel Alt**

Nearly noon. If she stopped to gaze at one more porcelain doll they would be late. There was no room for idle browsing between the ticks of his watch. So, he reminded her, as he had many times before, that once they had visited her grandmother they could return to the market shops. And, as she always did, she nodded with the most innocent of expressions.

He would never be drawn to such a pure child, one that smiled and giggled and played with dolls. No. Those types of girls sickened him. But the smiles she gave were laced with a secret amusement. Giggles came from a twisted sense of humor. And those dolls she played with were hanged by strips of pretty lace she'd torn from her dresses. Yes, to the entire world around her, she was sweet and innocent. But to him, she was a soul worth taking.

It'd been six months since their contract began. She'd called upon him after some brute sought to drown her in order to achieve revenge against her father, a wealthy business owner and politician. He was not one to be crossed. But when he'd heard his daughter had been killed, the heart condition that ailed him took full affect and he was put in the hospital. So, as this story always goes, she wanted revenge and was willing to sacrifice herself for the sake of her father and the death of her assailant.

Sebastian had been 'hired' as not only a butler, but also a bodyguard, responsible for the young mistress's well being while her attacker was still roaming free. No one questioned his sudden arrival, nor his unmatchable skill. There was no one that didn't appreciate his presence. Well, except for the girl's enemies of course. But they were no problem, Sebastian would take care of them sure enough and all would be well in the world. Her father could pass in peace and so could she. And Sebastian could move on once again.

He walked a few paces behind her, hands behind his back, eyes forward. He scanned the crowd, as if someone might jump out and attack at any moment. It was entirely possible and it never hurt to be aware of one's surroundings, especially with such a delicate charge.

They were headed to the train station. Her grandmother had called earlier that morning, requesting she come and visit immediately. They had things to discus, most likely her father. The old woman was always preparing her granddaughter for her son's death and wanted to make certain she would be properly cared for afterward. Everyone was sure he would die. That fact didn't seem to bother her. She dealt with demons, why would it?

The train station was relatively active on that crisp autumn day. He stepped closer to her, taking her hand as to lead her through the crowds without complication. They paid for their ticket and walked to the tracks, waiting for the train to pull up.

His eyes searched the area curiously; making certain nothing was there to threaten his charge. But.. he stopped. And stared.

There.

Standing among the crowd was a young male, silvery blue hair, elegant clothing, and freshly shined boots. Everything about him was perfect, from behind anyway. His hands were gloved, resting on his cane. There was an air about him, one that sent chills up the demon's spine. A slim black ribbon could be seen pocking through his hair, perhaps holding something to a face he couldn't see.

There was no thought behind his movements. He dropped the young lady's hand, making his way through the crowd, eyes fixated on the figure. He began to walk away, escaping his grasp. No! He quickened his pace, lunging forward, shouting a "Young master?" in a slightly frantic voice.

The mystery male turned, furrowing his brow. "Can I help you with something?" His voice was soft but confused. His eyes were a dark brown. The ribbon did not hold an eye patch to his eyes. No, it held his hat in place. The demon took a step back, eyes wide. He immediately apologized, bowing quickly. The stranger walked away. And it was as if the room started to move around him.

And yet he seemed frozen in place. He'd been crazy to go after he figure he'd seen. It couldn't have been him. He was gone. Far away. He'd made sure of it. The young master was not returning. Never.

He shook his head, hoping to regain his sanity. When he turned, he saw the young lady staring up at him in confusion and sadness.

"Is something wrong Michel?" She asked; her voice soft and angelic. Just like her face. He shook his head, taking her hand again.

"No, nothing at all." He murmured, making his way back to the train, a somewhat horrified expression taking his face.

And that was only the first sighting.

**A/N ;; Hope you liked it. I know, vague and whatnot. But it'll get better once I get a chance to explain what's actually happening. Just a note, Michel Alt is the name the little girl (who has no name) gave to Sebastian. The name comes from Annaliese Michel, a German woman who was believed to be possessed by demons. The man to diagnose her condition was Ernest Alt, who then urged for her to receive exorcism. So, you get a little history as well. Anyway. Review because you love me. Don't because you take joy in making me cry. **


	3. Loss of the mind

Venice

1962

Roland Bishop

He still looked the same, image only altered by time. Black hair, tucked back. Shoes freshly shinned. Everything was in it's place. Though it had taken slightly more time to get to such a state. More than it should have. Subsequently, he'd been three minutes behind in preparing breakfast. No one had noticed, but that fact had been plaguing his mind for the entirety of the morning. How could he have slipped? To a human, such a lapse in time would mean nothing but to butler that planned his movements by the second – leaving no room for error because he had been sure he'd never make any – it was nearly catastrophic. In all honesty, it'd been a mindless falter; one he hadn't thought he'd been capable of making. When dressing that morning, he'd buttoned his suit jacket as he always did. But, when he looked in the mirror, he noticed that he'd missed a button, therefore throwing off the entire alignment of the coat. Shameful, that's what it was.

And little things like that had been happening a lot lately. He would drop a sock while doing laundry; he'd make a wrong turn at the intersection. They he'd purchase the wrong kind of bread. Then he'd spilled batter all over the kitchen floor. Now, he couldn't even dress himself without hearing a voice that wasn't there, seeing a boy he knew for a fact to be _temporarily out of service. _He would turn quickly to see a flash of silvery hair rounding the corner. Late at night, he'd hear the rapping of a cane against the hard wood floor. They would be walking in a crowd and he would swear that unclear stranger in the corner had a discolored right eye. And this wasn't a new onset of symptoms; it had been going on for years. The paranoia, the delusions. Had he known demons could succumb to such ailments he would have put a warning label on his contract. Caution: warped sense of reality may result in loss of focus and in extreme cases, of limb.

And what was worse was the fact that these sightings had begun to affect his work. He was slower, less responsive, no longer deserving of the title he'd once been gifted. No longer, _One hell of a butler,_ more like_ One hell of a somewhat decent servant. _That was unacceptable. But what could he do.

"Roland!"

He'd lost his focus again. He turned and apologized to the young man standing by, waiting for him to open the car door. But something had caught his eye – a long, navy overcoat draped over a rather short frame accompanied by a fresh top hat. The hair had been slight obscured by the high collar. And for a minute, he could have sworn he saw a wisp of gray blue peering out from it. But he'd been wrong. So wrong. The stranger turned his head to speak with the gentleman walking beside him. That was not a face Sebastian recognized. He wasn't sure if he was disappointed or not.

London

The years had started to meld together

His identity had been lost with his last master.

No name. No home. No purpose. He was losing his mind. _Sebastian Michaelis. Sebastian Michaelis. _It never stopped. It never stopped! All night, no matter the hour, his voice hung in the air, calling out like some phantom.. Phantomhive. No. No! He couldn't take it any longer, he'd had it. He wasn't Sebastian Michaelis, that identity had been buried along with it's master. And yet.. he hardly responded to any of the names his formers had given him. He would think to himself as Sebastian and no one else.

What was happening to him?

He'd returned to London, returned to the site of it all, as if it would provide some answer. Maybe he was hoping some thirteen year old would be awaiting his arrival. Of course, there was no one to call 'Young Master.' Not one person. If he had been following him, he made a point not to show up when the flustered butler began to shout to the sky. This was insanity in it's purest form. He needed to find out the truth. And that meant going back to that place, to that person, reviving a life he'd hidden away.

Sebastian Michaelis needed to awaken Ciel Phantomhive.

No good could come from this.

**A/N ;; So sorry for the delay, unfortunately my immune system decided to screw me over last week x.x Baaah. But anyway, I typed the ending up fast. I was planning on writing another scene but I kicked the idea and just rambled. Oi. Does that make me a horrible person? Probably. **

**Oh! Also. Roland Bishop. I want to see how smart my readers are! In your review, I want you to tell me where the names come from (using search engines is cheating but how the hell am I going to know?). Maybe I'll give you a prize.. like a hug.. or something less sentimental. I don't know. Maybe I won't give you anything. **

**KTHXBAI.**

**And for those who are wondering, yes this is like the third time I've changed my pen name. I'M SO INDECISIVE. **


End file.
